


Get Thee Behind me Garak!

by DG_Fletcher



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 11:49:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4478243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DG_Fletcher/pseuds/DG_Fletcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garak has to rescue Bashir from a torture artist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get Thee Behind me Garak!

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a short story right out of high school and Paul's haircut reminded me of Garak's hair so now Garak gets to do Paul's Job much better than Paul ever did. 
> 
> The OC is Paul's villain Freschnick, and it's from his viewpoint. He's from the 1930s and has never seen Star Trek. Paul makes a quick appearance at the beginning and end.

Down in the Promenade, a yelp blasted out of the tailor shop and what basically amounted someone who could very well be a brownish humanish Garkaish looking person tumbled out. Well, he was wearing Garak's clothes and had similar hair, but he was panicking bad enough to cause a disturbance. 

"Things gonna get me!" the man yelled, staring wide eyed up at the shirts, pressing his hands up to the sides of his head. "I'm out I'm out I'm out breathe Paul breathe I'm out WHAT WAS THAT?!" 

He freaked out bad enough at sight of a decidedly not-very-terrifying Rom. 

"Orange ears big orange ears orange ears big orange ears!" he tried to run and ran right into—and through—Odo. Looking up at him from the ground the panic eased a little bit. "I get the impression Freschnik burned your face off, didn't he?" he said. 

Odo frowned and squinted at him a bit. "I get the impression you're a bit lost," he said. 

— Now the fun part! —

And elsewhere, Freschnick had a new plan. 

Torturing Paul did nothing. He broke down too fast, protected by his own insanity. Freschnick spent over fifteen grand rebuilding one of the rooms to have a very thick glass wall, the right amount of microphones, the right amount of visibility, the right amount of speakers. Now he was ready to bring in Paul. Paul wouldn't break for him, maybe he'd break watching them torture his friend Daniye. 

He hit the button and his guards pushed Paul in, throwing him to the ground. When he went down, he was dark skinned, brown eyes, black hair, appropriately terrified. 

When he came back up—apparently Paul could summon demons. 

The Demon was wearing Paul's rags—but who knew what kind of flames or whatever they could summon? It looked rather dragonish, like a dragon trying to pretend to be Paul, and succeeding only on the hair sort of. The skin was eerie gray, with loops and ridges and what could have been scales of some type. The eyes were blue—and where Paul's eyes were shell shocked and paranoid, the demon seemed mostly confused. In the glass room, two guards threw someone down onto the ground, way too dark skinned to be Paul's friend Daniye, but wearing Daniye's white shirt and jeans, which fit him wrong.

The guard kicked the man in the room. He cried out and the speakers carried it into this room. The demon reacted just as Freschnick expected Paul to, pressing his eerie inhuman gray hands up against the glass and watching. 

Freschnick could control them possibly better than he could control Paul. 

Maybe. 

He hit the little button on his fingertip and the guards launched into a full blown attack on the random whoever that was they'd summoned. 

The demon spun on him. "A whip? A physical whip? Your people are so out of touch and out of tech that you'd use a mere piece of rope as your attacking agent? How long exactly do you expect this subject to last?!"

Freschnick blinked. This went in a completely different direction from what he was expecting. Demonic indeed. What in hell's name had Paul summoned?!

"Whips are not _real_ torture, you know this, right? With a subject that fragile, you're likely to put it into shock within three strikes and then where would you be?" The demon's bizarre ridged face twisted up into a sadistic smile and he twitched his fingers eagerly. 

It stepped toward him and, although they were the only ones in the room, checked the speakers like they were listening. "Let me give it a go. Not to brag, but I have ripped information thought to be incredibly personal from someone some people consider to be deities," the demon's eerie too-normal eyes flicked up at the speakers again and back at Freschnick. "All without ever actually touching him,"

The guard on the other side of the glass drew his first strike across the man's back and a shriek loud enough to buzz out the volume capacity of the speakers rang through the room. 

Freschnick watched the demon's face. Paul would have been on his knees, sobbing some lame plea or other, begging him to free his friend. When the cry came through, the demon frowned and shook his head knowingly. "That's far too much intensity for a first attack. You have to go about this sort of thing delicately or you'll end up with nothing but a mess on your hands and nothing to work with."

The demon faced the scene behind the glass and mulled over it, mumbling to himself. "You missed your good cop/bad cop setup. You've physically injured them, meaning now you've provided evidence..." 

Freschnick hit the button and the guard looked over toward the glass wall in confusion. On his end, it was a two way mirror, and he'd been explicitly told not to look at it, but too late now. "So what would you suggest?" he asked. 

The demon clapped his hands. "Ah! I was hoping you'd ask that question! See, you have to get creative! Slower. Smaller! Nerve endings aren't very big you know." 

The demon looked around. "We could, hmm... There's a table in here, there's a doorframe, there's these speakers," He caught sight of a sink in the other room and his whole face lit up all the way out to the edges and he drummed his fingers against each other in front of his face. "Water! It gives life, it takes life," he turned to Freschnick. "Do you have a rag?" he asked, then looked down. "Never mind, I seem to be wearing them!" 

He ripped off a corner and started off toward the door like he owned the place. 

This wasn't what Freschnick expected at all. Somehow, Paul had summoned a torture artist. "Um, just a sec, lemme get that for you," he said. "There's a pass code." 

The demon glanced down at it and put his hand over the dial pad. He tapped it a few times and the door opened. Paul had summoned an -omniscient- demon. Great. 

They walked around the hallway and the demon glanced up and down it, eyeing everything. "Ceiling tile dust, glass, even your basic tile floor can come in really handy as weapons," he said, nodding knowingly. 

Freschnick realized that with the way the thing's eyes were sunken far into his face, he didn't actually have eyebrows, and emoted by moving his entire head—and maybe that loop thing in the center of his forehead was a third eye of some kind?

The demon opened the door to the room and all the guards panicked, raising their guns up at him. The demon frowned and shot a knowing glance at Freschnick, having to tilt his whole head toward him. "Ballistics weapons? Really? Have you not outgrown that yet?"

"What do your people have?" 

The demon shrugged and went to the sink, wetting the rag. "Phasers. Things you never have to reload in battle as long as you always—" he shook the very wet rag in Freschnick's general direction. "—Always—remember to charge it the night before. In fact—" 

The head guard's gun caught his attention. 

"This has an aiming mechanism, I might be able to—" he looked it over, up and down the barrel as the guard held it, looking at the triggering mechanism, looking at everything in it. He leaned back right behind the guard, still inspecting the gun, muttering something about fixing it. 

"Can we get the light down here? This might be able, if you have the right corundum mechanism, we might be able to... oh just put the gun up here," 

It was right about the point where the demon moved the rifle up closer to the ceiling light that Freschnick suddenly remembered Sunday School and not to trust demons. 

He had Michael in front of him, the prisoner behind him, and everyone else in front of the gun when he tossed the wet rag up in the air and everyone looked up at it. 

Between his split second advantage from the rag and using Michael as a meat shield, the demon blasted them apart with Michael's gun until there was no one but the demon, Freschnick, and the prisoner in the room, and that was it. 

The eerily normal eyes locked in on him again. "Move and I will blow your hand off," the demon said. 

"Garak?!" the prisoner cried.

Great. They knew each other. 

"Shh." the demon said to the prisoner. Without taking his hand off the gun, he flicked around looking for something to unbind his ally with. 

"GET THEE BEHIND ME SATAN!" Freschnick yelled. It was the only thing he could think of from the Bible that was strong enough to possibly exorcise the demon and bring Paul back. 

Nothing happened. Maybe this was one of the lesser demons? Whatever it was, it untied the knot that held the cord to the ceiling and his friend fell forward, cringing in pain from the gash across his back. With his hands loose, the man untied himself and stood up. "I'm going to need a med kit immediately," he said, gritting his teeth. The demon nodded. 

Static sounded out of Michael's pocket. "ssssssBoss?? We've got a whole flock of soldiery looking people outside and they're trying to... oop, they got in, sorry 'bout that, I tried paging Michael and he's not responding, probably taking a smoke, and uh, they want in. They have lasers." 

"They're PHAsers," the demon said like it was obvious, keeping the gun aimed at Freschnick all the way up until a dozen or so people came in and handcuffed him. 

"Is this where you were?" a woman's voice. 

"Yeah. Freaking out. Freaking out. Trying not to freak out."

"PAUL?!" Freschnick yelled. 

Paul yelped. 

A lovely woman with gawdawful tattooed spots splattered down her neck walked in. "Found them!" 

Right behind them, Paul, wearing who the hell knew what. Dull green and red stripes and suspendery looking things. 

"You're wearing my shirt!" the demon said. 

"WHAT IS THAT THING???!!" Paul yelped, jumping back so hard he hit the wall. 

"Apparently you summoned Satan and ruined my entire plan I'd put in motion and, and... and..." 

Wait. Demon had a name. The prisoner had said it. So it wasn't Satan. He had to say the right demon name to get rid of it!!

"GET THEE BEHIND ME GARAK!" Freschnick yelled. 

That didn't work either, and everyone basically lived happily ever after. 

(And the "how'd he pick out the pass code?" Observation and dirty buttons.)


End file.
